His Prize

Chapter 5: Out of the Cell

My eyes peek open. I struggle to focus on the room around me.

It's dark. The lights were always on in my cell.

It feels like I'm floating on a cloud, a warm cosy cloud. For the first time since I was captured, my body doesn't ache.

There's a sweet smell of roast chicken in the air.

I slowly sit up from the cloud, rubbing my eyes. I notice a plate on the bedside table. There's a chicken sandwich on it! This is heaven. The injection killed me, and I'm in heaven. Mouth-watering, I reach for the food, only to be held back. My right wrist is handcuffed to the bed. Not heaven.

I check my left arm. It's free of chains. I reach for the sandwich and take a bite. It tastes even better than it smells. I barely chew before swallowing and taking another bite.

I quickly finish the sandwich, picking up every crumb off the plate. Only once it's bare do I notice my surroundings.

I'm in a large bedroom, sitting in the middle of a double bed, handcuffed to the bed post. The room is dimly lit by sunlight, which is mostly smothered by the closed curtains.

I slide back into the bed's warm embrace, resting my head on the soft pillow. I haven't been in a bed, let alone one this warm and comfortable, in ages. I want to savour it while I can, before dreaded reality comes knocking at the door.

* * * * * * * *

"Human."

I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to leave my peaceful cocoon.

"Human," I hear again.

Something starts touching my hand. I quickly shoot to an upright position. My vision focuses on a figure. Alex. I was naively hoping it would be someone else, anyone else.

"Are you hungry?" he asks. I stare at him. Like he cares.

"Why? Did you misplace your syringe?" My words drip with venom.

He looks annoyed. "There're enough ingredients for another sandwich, but suit yourself." He begins walking to the door.

The thought of more food blinds me. "Wait, yes, I want more," I blurt out in a moment of weakness. He glances at me before leaving the room.

I hear pots and bowls being moved around.

In only a few minutes, he returns with a new plate, chicken sandwich on it as promised. He puts it on the bedside table, removing the empty one.

I stare at it for a moment. The fear of being drugged returns.

"What did you do to it?" I ask.

"It's not drugged."

I watch him for a little. I know he can't lie to save his life. I cautiously pick up the sandwich and take a bite.

It's gone in just a few seconds.

"Want another?" he offers as I'm wiping my mouth.

"Yea."

He takes the empty plate, leaves, and then returns with another sandwich.

I start eating again, slower this time.

"Do you like it?"

"Mm." I pay little attention to him, all I can think about is the lovely food in my hand.

"The name's Alex Dunn," he remarks.

"Nina Stockell," I reply without thinking.

"Nina, hey."